Perspective

Our house in Caldwell had floor to ceiling windows on the sunny side. In Spring a robin flew directly at one of the windows many times a day, knocking himself out, and falling to the ground. I wondered why knocking himself to the ground didn't teach him to stop this behavior, why he kept doing it. I thought at first he wanted to get inside the house.

Days and days he did this, and I finally I decided upon a reason that made sense to me. It was because he could see his image in the glass and had fallen in love with himself. He wanted to be with that beautiful bird.

I wrote a poem about it and expressed that idea in the poem. I took it to my writing group. My friend told me she had the very same experience one year. Her conclusion was nothing like mine. She concluded the robin could see his image in the window and wanted to fight that other bird. His flying at the window was an attack.

That also made sense to me. I'd like to think I'm right, but it's likely she is.

Here at Greenwood Circle

It's quiet now. Thirty minutes ago four dogs were barking, maybe five, all at once. I have made a count of the dogs in my immediate neighborhood. Eleven. Three of my neighbors have two each. Is that really necessary?

I did not go outside to see why the barking, just stayed in here muttering about it.  When I did go out a few minutes ago to get my mail, the new little dog next door yipped and yapped and full on barked, as he/she always does if I come outside. Always is misleading. That dog has only been here for three days, and I don't know whose dog it is. Dash doesn't seem to mind the companionship. I mind the barking. It's persistent. I explained to the little dog that I was here first and he has some nerve barking at me. I'm the one who belongs here. He's the  newcomer, and, after all, who is he anyway? He paid no attention to my explanation. Typical.

I get a little tired of Dash and his frequent squirrel chases. They're never silent, but at least I know what's going on and sometimes even hope he catches one. It's the big ugly dog on the other side that I can't tolerate. He's loud and intrusive. I don't see him, and I'm pretty sure he can't see me, but if I step outside, or if anyone comes near this part of the block, he starts up. He has super hearing and smell, no doubt. I have been known to tell him to shut up. Rude, I know. Beneath my dignity, I know.

Swell, he has started up again, and his pal chimes in. Something has started them all up again. Hardly worth writing about.

I have a life, so don't tell me to get one.